


Achilles Last Stand

by MissViolet



Category: Led Zeppelin, Rock Music RPF
Genre: Accidents, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Drugs, Fluff and Smut, Hospitals, Hotel Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24756121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissViolet/pseuds/MissViolet
Summary: Robert re-injures his broken ankle, and Jimmy takes charge.
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant
Comments: 13
Kudos: 40





	Achilles Last Stand

They tried to tell him not to do it, but he felt claustrophobic in the basement studio, and anyway, the song wasn’t meant to be sung sitting down. It called for his usual strutting about, or as best he could manage with his leg in a cast. He hoisted himself up from the wheelchair onto the crutches that he was only supposed to use to go to the loo. Jimmy looked at him from the control booth, shaking his head, an expression of concern on his face. 

Undaunted, he sang the first verse. When he got to _Oh, the songs to sing / When we at last return again_ , he turned to Jimmy to give him a thumbs-up, and his crutch caught on a cable. He flailed, trying to keep his balance. He saw Jimmy fling his headphones down and race out of the control booth just before he toppled and and fell with a horrendous crack. 

A blue-white flash of pain washed over him. For a moment he thought he was having a heart attack before he remembered his already-broken leg. He lay on the floor, whimpering helplessly. 

“I told you not to try it standing up!” Jimmy hissed in his ear. Jonesy was pushing the wheelchair towards him. Together they hoisted him to it and wheeled him out to the parking lot.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, feeling vulnerable. His leg throbbed with pain. 

“To the bloody hospital, where else?” Jimmy said angrily. He was terribly worried; Robert could see that anger was his way of dealing with it.

They got him into the back seat, with his leg stretched out, and the wheelchair packed into the boot of the car, and Jonesy ran back to the studio to find out about the nearest hospital. 

“Give me a fag, love,” said Robert. It was agonizing. How could he have broken his leg again when it was already broken, immobilized in the cast? 

Jimmy fished out one of his stupidly-long cigarettes, lit it, and passed it back to Robert. Jonesey came back out to the car with the directions to the hospital scribbled on a piece of paper. 

“It’s only two miles away,” he said. “Klinikum Bogenhausen.” He was explaining how to get there but Robert was tuned out, dazed with pain. He puffed fiercely on Jimmy’s unpalatable cigarette, wondering what was going to happen to him. It was out of his control, but Jimmy would take care of it all. He always did. 

“I can’t stand worrying about you,” Jimmy said gloomily as he drove. “Who knows how many more months you’ll have to spend in this cast? Would you please, please try to be more careful?” 

“Sorry, mate. I just wanted the song to be good, you know? To rock out, like we always do.” 

“It can be good without you fucking killing your leg,” Jimmy said, only a little mollified. They were turning into the hospital emergency entrance, pulling up to the door. Thankfully there were orderlies to assist, big sturdy German men who helped him out of the back seat and into the wheelchair. They didn’t speak any English, just pushed Robert along the hallway and up to a reception desk while Jimmy parked the car.

“Name, date of birth, occupation?” asked a no-nonsense white-capped nurse at the desk. She looked too young and pretty to be so severe, with her blond hair tucked under the cap, and a starched uniform stretched tightly across her full breasts. 

Robert was glad he could still notice such things despite the haze of pain. She didn’t bat an eye when he winked at her before answering “Robert Plant, 20 August 1948, musician.” It seemed that either everyone recognized him, so that he could not walk down the street without being mobbed by fans, or else no one did. 

The nurse took down his address, next of kin, and description of the problem.

“I think the leg’s broken,” Robert explained. She looked down at his cast with confusion. 

“Again, I mean. Me crutch got caught on a cable and I tripped and fell and heard a crack. And it hurts. A lot,” he said. With relief he saw Jimmy striding up to the desk. 

“He’s in agony,” he said without any preamble. “Get him in to see a doc. Right away. We’ll pay cash,” he added, pulling out a wad of deutschmarks, which the nurse waved away. She pointed to a hard plastic bench and told them it would only be moment. Several other sad-looking Germans were sitting there, a middle-aged man clutching a bloody towel to his finger, a blank-faced young woman with a red-faced toddler who wept quietly and consistently. 

“It better be quick,” said Jimmy ominously, wheeling him over there. Robert was never so glad to see the aggressive side of his soft-spoken friend emerge. It was an aspect of his character that normally only emerged in the bedroom, when they were alone, but in times of need Jimmy could be a right bastard. 

“I brought your cigs,” he said, passing Robert his pack that he had retrieved from the glove box. He put one in Robert’s mouth, lit it for him solicitously. 

“Thanks, mate,” said Robert, puffing gratefully. The pain made him want to smoke more than usual. “I’m sorry I fucked it all up. You told me not to try to stand. And now we won’t finish before the Stones kick us out of the studio.” His leg felt hot and swollen. He closed his eyes, tried not to think about the pain. To his dismay, two tears squeezed out and rolled down his cheeks. 

“Hey!” said Jimmy softly. “It’ll be fine. I’ll tell Mick and Keith where they can stick it,” he said, taking Robert’s hand and holding it without any self-consciousness whatsoever. Jimmy, who was normally so reserved he made them leave the studio in separate cars so no one would know they were sleeping in the same bed, did not care if the entire hospital thought they were fairies. 

Between throbs of pain Robert felt those blinding flashes of love for his friend that sometimes gripped him when they were alone together. He wiped the tears from his face.

The young woman with the red-faced toddler was called in first, which Robert, with two kids of his own, did not begrudge. Then he heard his name called, and Jimmy got up and wheeled him over to where a young blond-haired doctor held a clipboard. He could not have been 30, but he had the white coat and the stethoscope and the air of authority that doctors always have. 

“Robert Plant?” he asked him, his pale eyes registering a momentary surprise and recognition. But in typical German fashion, he did not acknowledge his famous patient. They followed him into an exam room, and Jimmy parked his wheelchair, braked it, and the doctor asked him if he was next of kin. 

“Just a friend,” he said. “I’ll stay,” he added, before the doctor could ask him to leave. 

Robert explained how he fell and how badly it hurt. The doctor took his vitals, and stuck his head out the door, calling out for a nurse named Ingrid and shouting in German. 

Ingrid was not pretty like the one at the front desk, but rather thin and hatched-faced. She looked at the two long-haired men with undisguised disapproval before handing handed Robert a cup of water and two pills. 

“It’s an anti-inflammatory and a Demerol,” said the doctor. “For the pain. You should feel it in about ten minutes.” Then he slid out a low panel from the exam table and propped Robert’s leg up on it. “This will have to be removed,” he said, tapping the cast. He gave some more instructions in German to the nurse and she returned with a medieval-looking circular saw, which she plugged into an outlet. The doctor used it to saw off the cast, peeling it away, exposing Robert’s pale, shrunken calf and purpled, swollen ankle. 

“Probably a bad sprain,” he said, prodding it gently, but Robert already had that far-away floating feeling that he recognized from his enthusiastic dalliances with recreational drugs. He was high from the Demerol, and had to repress the urge to giggle.

“We’ll take x-rays as a precaution, but we would need to see the ones they took when you first broke it to properly treat him,” he said, talking to Jimmy now because he could see that Robert had gone woozy. “So he’ll have to see his own doctor, if possible, or a bone specialist.” He stood up and Jimmy took Robert’s wheelchair and the three of them went to radiology, where the doctor left them. 

Jimmy was not allowed into the x-ray room, but by that time, Robert was almost euphoric from the drugs, the pain nearly forgotten, so he rather enjoyed flirting with the pretty blond nurse assisting the radiologist. She didn’t speak much English but giggled fetchingly as he complimented her in ways she didn’t understand. She touched his bad leg so gently and delicately, sliding the fabric of his trousers up above his knee, cradling his leg as she turned it in various directions to take x-rays, that he started to get the horn and had to steer his mind toward repulsive things to avoid being embarrassed like a schoolboy. He stared at the medical waste bin and thought of what might be in there until the x-rays were done. 

They went back to the first exam room to wait for the plates to be developed. The whole thing was suddenly hilarious to him, re-injuring his leg, already in a cast, his semi hard-on in radiology, Jimmy sitting in the waiting room clutching a copy of an esoteric German medical journal as if he could read it. Robert had to repress the urge to laugh out loud. He lolled in his wheelchair with a goofy smile on his face.

“Are you stoned on that painkiller?” Jimmy asked him. His voice sounded faraway.

“I feel great!” he said, a bit too loudly. “This Demerol is pretty good stuff."

“Shhh,” said Jimmy. “You’re high as a kite.” But he smiled, clearly relieved that Robert was no longer suffering. 

The doctor returned with the developed films, which he stuck onto a lightbox. He said he thought the breaks were the existing ones from months ago, but Robert definitely had a bad sprain. He’d have to have another cast, a temporary one, and get treatment from his regular doctor as soon as possible. 

“Goodbye, foot. Goodbye, ankle. It was nice seeing you again,” said Robert woozily, as the doctor wrapped his lower leg in wet plaster, immobilizing it again, but leaving a gap around his ankle to accommodate the swelling. The cast quickly dried, and his ankle immediately felt better held in place as it was. Maybe the situation was salvageable, Robert thought. 

Things looked up even more when the doctor handed Jimmy a white paper envelope full of pills. “Give him one every four hours, two before bed, but not to exceed six per day. And the anti-inflammatories, one each morning for the next three days. Plenty of rest. No crutches; he should use the wheelchair. Make sure of that,” he told Jimmy, because Robert was too loopy to understand directions.

The same pretty nurse discharged them, accepting a surprisingly large wad of marks in payment, and issuing a receipt. Then Jimmy wheeled him outside and left him on the curb while he fetched the car. The orderly helped him maneuver Robert into the backseat. He drove back to the hotel and, with the help of the bellhop, got him out of the car and into the wheelchair again. Robert was feeling rather like an unwieldy parcel that had to be manhandled, which seemed hilarious to him. He giggled as Jimmy pushed him into the lobby. 

“You’re lit like a bloody Christmas tree. Pipe down while I talk to the front desk,” Jimmy told him, but he was smiling at how goofy and stoned he was. He asked the concierge if Jonesy and Bonzo were back from the studio. They were not, so he left messages for them with the concierge to let them know Robert was okay. Then the bellhop helped him get the woozy Robert into the elevator, up to his room and onto the bed. Jimmy tipped him generously. He closed the door, locked it, and sat on the bed. Carefully, tenderly, he removed Robert’s boot and stretched out on the bed next to him. 

“I’m glad you didn’t break anything else,” he told him. “You fell with such a loud crack. It must have hurt like hell.” The tone of his voice suggested that Robert somewhat deserved it for getting out of his wheelchair. 

“It was almost worth it to see you race in like a hero to save me. Like Achilles and Patroclus,” Robert said dreamily. 

Jimmy leaned over, stroked his hair from his face, kissed him softly. “For God’s sake, love, do try to be more careful.”

Robert kissed him back, eagerly. The drifting, floating feeling from the drug was turning into euphoria, and he felt a tingling where their lips met. They kissed slowly, sensuously, and Robert felt his heart leap, skip a beat, settle into a fast thump-thump.

Jimmy’s hand came up behind his neck, his fingers tightly gripping his hair in a way that always meant the bedroom. “Don’t tempt me,” he murmured. 

“Oh, but I want to,” he sighed, and he opened his mouth as they kissed. 

“You have to rest,” said Jimmy between kisses and more kisses, the biting kind, and Robert did not want to rest, but Jimmy pushed him away. He got up, took the ice bucket out to the hall, and returned with ice and a Coke from the vending machine. He filled one of the tooth-glasses with ice and Coke and the other with gin-and-tonic from the bottles that Robert kept on the bureau. 

“You need cooling,” Jimmy told him, handing him the Coke. 

Robert sipped the Coke lying back on the pillows of the bed with a pouty, disappointed look on his face. “Why doesn’t mine have any booze in it?” he complained. 

“I’m not letting you mix booze and painkillers,” said Jimmy. He kicked off his shoes and rejoined him on the bed, carefully putting his gin on the night-table.

Robert, of course, hadn’t forgotten their brief, hot kiss. He slid his leg closer so that he was wedged right up next to him, and Jimmy leaned back into the pillows, and Robert leaned his head into Jimmy’s shoulder. 

“Still want you,” he mumbled. 

“I would say the painkillers are making you randy, but you’re always like this,” said Jimmy. He turned to him, and the second kiss was even hotter than the first: open-mouthed with a lot of tongue, and they kissed until their lips were bruised and they were both breathless and panting.

Robert, though he kissed him eagerly, felt his limbs suffused with woozy languor. It didn’t make him any less hot for Jimmy; his heart was still pounding with anticipation, and he was still dying to get his kit off, to run his hands up and down his lean body. But he lay motionless, made sluggish by the opiates in his system, and enjoying the curious feeling, a kind of erotic laziness unlike anything he’d felt before. 

It was Jimmy who leaned over him with passionate, deep kisses, who threw one arm over his torso, squeezed his bicep, slid his hand down until he was circling Robert’s wrist, holding him still, not because he needed to, but because he wanted to. Robert sighed with pleasure. He did so love to be held down, pinned, teased; he loved when Jimmy made him beg. 

“I can hardly stop myself from throwing myself at you. I don’t want to hurt you,” said Jimmy ruefully. He drew them closer together, turned, threw one leg over Robert’s good one, the other slipped between so that each could feel the other’s cockstand: Jimmy’s, still half-hard, just the beginning of an idea, and Robert’s, huge and stiff, and more than ready to go. 

“You won’t hurt me,” he said to Jimmy as he drew him close for another deep and soul-stirring kiss. In fact sometimes Jimmy did hurt him in bed, just a little, and he loved it when he bit his neck till he left marks, or slapped his arse while they were fucking. He loved that wild look in Jimmy’s eyes when he indulged his dark, wicked, lustful tendencies.

Jimmy rubbed his leg teasingly, invitingly against Robert’s erection. “Might as well do it properly,” he muttered. He unbuttoned Robert’s shirt, tossed it aside. He caressed his bare chest, and kissed his mouth again, and slid his lips down to his collarbone to kiss him there, while Robert sighed with pleasure. The feeling of being kissed and caressed while also tacked to the bed by the drowsiness of the drug, the clumsy cast on his leg, Jimmy’s leg pinning him, holding him immobile, it was exquisite, erotic torment. 

Their kisses became hard, dirty, gaping, and Jimmy’s fingers found his nipples, tweaked them, pinched them, making him groan as the kiss went on and on, as Jimmy’s thigh rubbed against his hard bulge, which the thin cotton trousers did nothing to conceal. They kissed passionately until his cock throbbed; his nipples ached. He was burning like a slow match at a cannon, waiting for that spark to set him ablaze, aching to explode, but helpless to speed it along.

“If not for your poor leg I’d have already taken you by now. Probably fetched you, too,” Jimmy purred in his ear. He bent his head low, sucked Robert’s nipples, biting and teasing them until Robert gasped and his big stiff-stander tented against his thin cotton pants. They were wide-legged so that they slid easily down his cast. Jimmy whisked them down his legs and tossed them aside, looked with satisfaction at his straining cock nodding against his belly. 

“What… what are you going to do?” asked Robert breathlessly. He wanted to be fucked; he always wanted to be fucked by Jimmy. The very thought made his heart pound. But it also seemed like a vigorous shagging (and there was no other kind with Jimmy) might be a good way to hurt his already-broken-and-now-sprained ankle. 

“What shall I do?” said Jimmy musingly. “Shall I toss you off?” he asked, taking hold of his stiff cock in his smooth white hand, giving it a couple of friendly up-and-down strokes while Robert panted. That he didn’t know what Jimmy would do next was tantalizing. Perhaps he really would fuck him, cast notwithstanding. The thought sent a thrill through his frame. 

“Shall I suck you?” Jimmy whispered in his ear. “You’re always screaming _suck it!_ on stage. Do you think about my lips around your big cock?”

Good Lord, but Jimmy had a dirty mouth! That some of the sexy things he said were so old-fashioned as to be practically Victorian didn’t make them any less smutty. How he loved it when he talked this way, so sweet and filthy. His cock throbbed in Jimmy’s hand. 

Jimmy didn’t wait for an answer. He had decided. He slid halfway down the bed to kiss the head, just the head, of Robert’s cock, and then he kissed and tongued his bollocks until Robert squirmed, and then finally he sucked the head into his hot mouth, tonguing the slit. His hair brushed Robert’s thighs; his dainty lips slid up and down, sending thrills of delight through Robert’s frame. 

He looked down; he could never resist watching him at his erotic labor. The glossy blue-black curls, those pouty rosebud lips, far too pretty for something as lewd as cocksucking, and yet there was his big hard dick, sliding in and out, while Jimmy looked up at him with eyes sparkling with delight. He groaned with lust as Jimmy’s lips glided up and down his stiff, throbbing tool, pausing to administer a delicious, teasing, tongue-lashing to the sensitive head, or sometimes letting his cock slide entirely out of his mouth to kiss and lick his hot, full bollocks.

Robert was in ecstasy. There was no way he could last very long with such expert cocksucking. And Jimmy had quit teasing him to get down to the serious business of making him spill into his mouth. His tongue lashed and flicked the most sensitive underside, he sucked the whole head hard enough to make Robert cry out, then soothed it with soft, loving licks. 

Robert’s legs began to quiver, and he raked his hands through Jimmy’s black curls as the delicious thrills shot through his body. “Oh, suck it, baby. Suck it!” he cried out lewdly, wanting it to go on and on, the exquisite feeling of Jimmy’s hot mouth, sucking and tonguing him as he writhed and bucked his hips to drive his aching, throbbing prick deeper. 

But Jimmy knew just how to drive him over the edge. His wickedly clever tongue tickled the spot, the very spot, that made him shudder with delight, right under his throbbing cockhead. Robert’s legs stiffened, and with a blissful groan of pure animal lust, his spunk shot out. Jimmy used his tongue to coax out jet after jet while he moaned and flooded his mouth until the cream spilled down his pretty lips.

.Jimmy delicately wiped his lips before kissing him, but Robert could still taste himself. “What a sweet mouth you’ve got,” he sighed, when he could speak again.

“Now get some rest. You shouldn’t be thrashing about,” Jimmy said, as if the heavenly blow job he’d just given him was not the cause of it. Then he turned so that his back was pressed against Robert’s good leg. 

“I’ll do you,” said Robert.

“I’m fine. Have a lie-down, now, doctor’s orders.”

“You’ve got a stiffie. I _felt_ it. Turn around, love.” 

“It’ll go away.”

Robert knew that it wouldn’t, not with that smoldering look in his eyes and the taste of his come still on Jimmy’s lips. So he was not at all surprised when he felt Jimmy shifting, heard the sound of his zipper being lowered and then a sigh of relief that suggested he had taken himself in hand.

“Doing it to yourself?” he asked fondly. They had lost all shyness about this particular act; watching each other frig was a regular kinky aperitif to their erotic romps.

“Can’t help it,” Jimmy panted. “You drive me wild, baby.” 

“Show me, darling, I want to watch.”

Jimmy turned over to face him as he stroked himself, not at all gently. The way he jerked himself reminded Robert of the way he played guitar: a little sloppy, a little lazy, but fiercely, ravishingly sexy. He tugged and squeezed and his hand flew faster. His beautiful mouth parted on a sigh as his hand found an especially pleasing rhythm. His breath caught, his eyes half-closed, and he moaned loudly as he drove himself ever closer to the delicious crisis. His head pitched forward, his hand flew, and his soft cries grew louder. 

It was a gorgeous sight that under other circumstances would have stiffened Robert’s cock to full attention, if not for the fact that Jimmy had just sucked the very life out of him. Robert sidled himself closer. “Oh, yes, darling. What a sight you are! Come on, do it. Come all over me,” he whispered, trailing his fingers sensuously up his own belly and chest.

Robert’s dirty mouth, his lithe, golden body, the way he caressed himself, inviting, begging, tipped Jimmy over the edge. With a wanton moan of pure delirious pleasure, he shot his come all over Robert’s chest and belly, striping him with several long jets of hot, creamy spunk, his fist pumping out every last drop until finally, with a great shudder, he was still. 

Jimmy lay back, heaving for breath, his face flushed red, still grasping his half-hard cock. He had taken the edge of his lust for Robert, but only the edge. It would have to do for now. “Now will you sleep?” he asked.

“Yes, dear,” Robert answered him with a kiss. He always felt especially close to him after watching him pleasure himself; it was such a private and intimate act that he couldn’t help but feel a bit honored every time he witnessed it. 

Jimmy got up, fetched a damp washcloth, and tenderly wiped Robert’s come-splattered belly. Then he brought him a glass of ice water, and gave him two more painkillers. He took off his shirt and jeans and crawled back into bed with Robert, who rested his head on his shoulder, nuzzled him sweetly.

Jimmy rested his hand on his good leg, squeezed it affectionately. Robert knew that he had put him through a roller-coaster of emotion today: anger, concern, lust, and love. His heart swelled with affection for him.

“I thought of a name for the song,” Robert’s voice came softly. “You know how Achilles was killed?”

“Arrow to the ankle, if I remember my Homer.”

“Yes, and I have a sprained, broken ankle. What if we call it “Achilles Last Stand”?

“It does fit the circumstances,” Jimmy said. “I like it. Let’s go with it. And it was your last stand, because I’m not letting you try that crutch again, not till the cast is off.” 

Really, he was in no position to complain. He lost them half a day of recording time, and his reward was to be full of happy pills, luxuriating in bed after one of Jimmy’s divine blow jobs, and if he had anything to say about it, he was going to return the favor before they got out of bed again. He drifted off, helped into dreamland by the drugs, and by the deliciously lazy, sleepy feeling he always felt after a soul-shaking climax caused by Jimmy’s expert ministrations. 

“Yes, boss,” he said meekly, nestling his head into Jimmy’s shoulder. “Whatever you say.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Me crutch got stuck on a cable, and I fell over, and I hit my foot on the ground. A mighty crack, and like a red-blue flash just shot up me. Jimmy moved so quickly, he was like an Olympic athlete, he was out of the control booth. I've never seen him move so fast in my life. For that alone it was almost worth it." 
> 
> \- Robert Plant on recording "Achilles Last Stand"


End file.
